


Legacy

by necronomibomb



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Canonical Character Death, Drinking to Cope, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, Past Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 10:39:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5494196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/necronomibomb/pseuds/necronomibomb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eggsy figures out more than Harry bargained for about his relationship with his father, but it bothers him in a way Harry doesn't expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Legacy

“Jesus, Harry, did you think I wouldn’t find out? That I was too fuckin’ stupid to  _ figure _ it out?”

“Now, hold on a minute, Eggsy--”

“Tell me -- and don’t you fuckin’ lie to me,” Eggsy started, stabbing at the air between them with a forefinger. “Am I only here because you wanted to be bangin’ my dead dad, and I’m your--... I’m your second chance? Is all of this complete horse shite?” He held his hands out now, encompassing the dressing room and what stretched beyond the false wall, the door half-open.

Harry closed his eyes and let out one of those long-suffering sighs Eggsy was all too familiar with, but this one came edged with an extra dose of… hurt? It was difficult to tell. It was always difficult to tell, with Harry.

“Eggsy, listen to me,” Harry attempted in his usual smooth, placating tone with a glance spared for the fitting room door.

“No. Don’t you ‘Eggsy-listen-to-me’ me. Answer the goddamned question.” Eggsy only raised his voice, and Harry only looked more uncomfortable.

“I picked you because you share a remarkable number of qualities with your late father,” Harry started, every single calculated word picked with the utmost care. One hand found its way to the pocket of his immaculately tailored slacks with the other drew inarticulate gestures in the air. If you knew Harry well enough -- and weren’t as pissed off as Eggsy currently was -- you might realize it was a rare showing of nerves. “It’s not what you think.”

“Oh, so you didn’t have the hots for him, then. The utter admiration in your voice every time he comes up is purely professional, not to mention how much you harp on how you wish I was more like him.” The sarcasm was tangible. “Fuuuck, Harry. I thought spies were supposed to be good at lyin’.”

“You didn’t let me finish.” Harry’s words sharpened, and while Eggsy would normally relent to that tone, his feelings were burning too hot for that; he set his jaw, but let his mentor continue as he folded his arms tight over his chest in exasperation. “While you share a remarkable number of qualities with your late father… you’re also  _ incredibly  _ different.”

Eggsy hesitated, even worse of a liar for the series of irritated and confused expressions as he shifted from foot to foot, posturing to try and play it off. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“I think--” Harry’s typically-eloquent words caught in his throat, and now both hands found their ways deep into his pockets as he straightened up, reforming his composure. “I think you've got a great deal to offer the Kingsmen, and your country. To pick childish fights within the twenty-four hours of your final test is unprofessional.”

“Oh, so then  _ we're  _ purely professional.”

“Eggsy, would you stop--”

“This is right proper bullshit.” Eggsy certainly wasn’t getting any quieter, so Harry let out a frustrated huff of a breath as he flattened a palm against his protege’s chest to push him further from the false wall at the back of the fitting room towards the yellow glow of the weapons armory beyond. “Yeah, that’s good, make sure no one out front can hear what  _ this  _ wanker has to say,” Eggsy shot back sarcastically, but moved with Harry’s push.

“It's not what you think,” Harry reiterated firmly, frustration starting to slip through the cracks in his composure as he removed his hand and took a step back to put some distance between them.

“I don't see how it isn't exactly what I think. Fuck, I thought livin’ up to my father's legacy was going to be difficult enough, didn't realize it was a totally different kinda legacy,” Eggsy spouted off, raising his hands mock-defensively. “Look, if you're lonely, it's like those mugs said in the pub, there's rent boys on Smith street. You can probably find one who looks like dear ol’ dad, no need to go through all this trouble to try and--”

“ _ Eggsy.” _

The amount of bite Harry put into that single word stopped Eggsy in his tracks, fuming but silent. His fists clenched at his sides. 

“If the way I feel for--  _ felt,  _ for your father,” Harry corrected somewhat suspiciously. “Makes you uncomfortable, I'll hand your resignation in to Arthur today with no questions asked.” Harry’s voice was back to the same calculated, carefully chosen meter of words. He barely confirmed or denied anything, and it only made Eggsy angrier. His frown deepened and he shook his head slowly.

“That's not the bloody point.”

Harry took a moment of his own to look confused, muted in comparison to the previous moment's anger. “Then what… “

“I'm just not someone that likes to be a second choice, yeah?” His words were suddenly quiet in the well-insulated space of the weaponry room, but they were still injected full of disdain. Eggsy took a steeling breath and shook his head, trying to push past Harry towards the door. “Fuck this, this is fucked up. I’m out.”

“Eggsy, stop,” Harry tried, moving to take Eggsy firmly by the shoulders, fingers catching in the loose fabric of his jacket.

“No, fuckin’-- fuck  _ off,  _ Harry!” Eggsy snapped, but even as he tried to twist away he found himself victim to the selfsame effortless conservation of motion Harry employed when he fought, spinning them both to pin Eggsy firmly to the nearest available wall space, some of the weaponry rattling on the shelves.

“You don’t understand,” Harry began, and the actual, raw emotion in his voice is enough to freeze Eggsy in his tracks. “I look at you and yes, sometimes I see your father. Sometimes I see too much of him. But you’re  _ you.  _ Jesus christ, are you ever you, and god forbid anyone, least of all me, ever try to forget that. You’re incredibly vulgar, your horrible taste in music is doubly so, and you wouldn’t know chivalry if it crawled up your pant leg and bit you on the ass. But that’s what I love about you, and that’s what you don’t understand. There could be a knock at that door and by some miracle it could be Lee, back from the dead, and even then I would still--... you,” Harry finished, before realizing that wasn’t an actual sentence and backtracking. “It would still be you.”

There was a pregnant pause as Eggsy stared at Harry in disbelief, and then his expression started to shift more towards looking like he wanted to punch Harry in the face. In that same moment, Harry learned that the look Eggsy gives you before he's about to punch you and the look he gives you before he's about to kiss you are remarkably similar. Harry might’ve put more thought into it if not for the way Eggsy’s lips were suddenly crushed against his, and he was quick to reciprocate.

There was much more roughness than Eggsy expected from someone as composed and uptight as Harry, but he went ahead and chalked that up to a very pent-up seventeen years. It was probably good Harry’s suit was nigh-indestructible, since Eggsy wasn’t exactly gentle in return; his own clothes didn’t fare quite as well. But even in his haste -- desperation, Eggsy almost wondered -- Harry was careful. He kept Eggsy pinned firmly to the wall without hurting him, and while Eggsy was normally the take-control type, there was something impossibly attractive about seeing Harry lose his composure like this.

“W-wait--” Eggsy squirmed, one of his arms tensing against where Harry had it pinned, which really only encouraged Harry in the opposite direction of waiting. Fortunately, Harry’s other hand was busy fumbling with the button of Eggsy’s jeans, leaving him free to reach up and grab Harry’s spectacles by one earpiece. Only then did Harry pause, panting quietly and giving Eggsy a questioning look. “Not recording, are we?”

Harry actually started to smile, which Eggsy mirrored with a smirk. “No, Eggsy.”

“Better safe than sorry.” He pulled the glasses smoothly from Harry’s face and tossed them onto the bench behind him.

Harry took a half step back only in favor of shrugging out of his shirt, which he likewise threw towards the bench to cover the glasses completely. “Better safe than sorry,” he agreed.

When they finally collapsed back on the cool wooden floor side by side to catch their breath, Eggsy pillowed his head on his arm and smiled at the ceiling as he considered the best way (read: whatever would get the best reaction) to tell Roxy he'd done incredibly dirty things in the armory.

There was a long span of time where neither of them spoke, close but not quite touching, like they couldn’t quite figure out where to go from here. Eggsy listened to soft sounds of Harry’s breaths, and when the silence started to get oppressive, he fidgeted.

“Did he… my dad,” Eggsy paused to clarify, shifting the arm crooked under his head to glance sideways at Harry. “... did he feel the same way? About you.” A moment of hesitation. “You said he saved your life, but… “

The hurt was more evident on Harry’s face because he wasn’t bothering to hide it now, other than keeping his gaze firmly fixed towards the ceiling. “I can only guess.”

Eggsy frowned and shifted to prop himself up on an elbow, eyes downcast to where the fingertips of his right hand brushed over the knuckles of his left, calloused and scabbed from training. He was used to blurting out questions without a second thought, but now -- with Harry, with this topic -- he was careful. “How did it happen?”

A moment of silence lapsed that was almost long enough for Eggsy to wonder if he’d  _ really _ asked the wrong thing, but eventually Harry drew a slow breath, sighing out as he ran his fingertips over his forehead. “It was the final test before Lee -- your father -- could’ve been the next Lancelot. What I missed was a grenade, concealed on an interrogation suspect. I… “ Harry hesitated again; Eggsy chewed at the inside of his lip. “It was my fault. I was stepping in to take the grenade myself when he shoved me out of the way and fell on it for all of us.”

For what was possibly the first time in his entire life, Eggsy was at a loss for words; he pushed a hand through his hair with an exhale, shifting to settle on his back again, head supported by his arm. “... that’s heavy.”

“Do you blame me, now that you know the full story?” Eggsy looked over again in surprise, doubly so when they locked eyes because Harry wasn’t trying to burn a hole in the ceiling with his gaze anymore.

Eggsy actually took the time to consider, licking his lips before shaking his head. “Nah. I don’t.”

“I blame me,” Harry replied quietly and with a slow breath, turning his eyes back towards the ceiling.

Shaking his head and shifting to prop on one elbow, Eggsy idly dragged the tip of his thumb down the length of a scar cresting Harry’s shoulder, making him shudder. That sight alone was enough to make Eggsy ready for round two, but he swallowed and tried to keep focused. “That’s because you’re a good bloke. That’s not me, I’m selfish.”

“I don’t see what that has to do with it,” Harry countered, but the look Eggsy gave him shut him up. (Eggsy also noticed that Harry didn’t argue with him.)

“What that’s got to do with it is… “ Eggsy trailed off for a moment, having to search for the right words. “My dad did that for you, yeah? And the other people in the room, sure, but you were the one he shoved off. I think he did care about you.” He shrugged, glancing down and over a couple of the scars littering Harry’s chest and shoulders. “I’m sure he cared about me, too. But I didn’t really know ‘im, and now I know you, so.” He trailed off again, half-smirking as he shrugged a shoulder. “I’m biased, I guess. I don’t blame you for gettin’ to have you.”

By the end, the look Harry is giving him is hovering somewhere between confusion, amusement, and a hint of adoration. “You do realize how convoluted that logic is, I hope.”

“I don’t know what that means, so, no,” Eggsy smirked, and before Harry could take the time to explain -- because it was obvious he was gearing up to -- he leaned in to press a firm kiss to his lips, lingering. Harry returned that in kind for a moment, slowly smoothing his hands up Eggsy’s arms before he shifted to entwine their legs and roll to position himself on top, fixing him with an amused look. “Whatcha gonna to do with this?” Eggsy asked innocently, shifting to press his thigh between Harry’s.

“That depends -- what were you going to do with this?” Harry had reached over towards Eggsy’s coat where it lay piled on the floor, deftly extracting one of the slim, golden grenades from a pocket.

“Aw, c’mon Harry,“ Eggsy groaned, and Harry simply laughed as he palmed the grenade with slender fingers and leaned in for another kiss.

 

\----------

 

There was no funeral for Harry Hart.

When Eggsy was finally given a chance to pay his respects -- to say goodbye -- the visit was surrounded by cold metal and the scent of formaldehyde. Harry’s body was laid out, clinically, on the mortician’s shelf that Merlin pulled out for him; the technician provided an awkward attempt at a comforting shoulder squeeze as he crossed to leave them alone. To leave Eggsy alone.

Eggsy had no idea what to do, standing over Harry’s body. There was a sheet drawn up to his chest, a smaller, white handkerchief covering the left side of Harry’s face. Eggsy absently noted that Harry looked odd without his glasses and suddenly he felt like throwing up, the taste of whiskey rising in the back of his throat without warning. He was already well on his way to being drunk, and after this he was only planning on continuing. He’d have to have a pint of Guinness, he decided. Or several.

“I can’t believe I said those things to you, now that I know how this feels,” Eggsy intoned softly, the sound of his own voice in the quiet of the morgue nearly startling him. “I promise not to stuff ya and keep you on a shelf by the shitter, okay?”

He laughed once but it was a dry, uncomfortable sound.

“Goddamnit, Harry,” he whispered roughly, his thumb finding the scar at the crest of Harry’s shoulder to trace, but this time only Eggsy shuddered at the cool touch of his skin.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do now?”

He didn’t feel the urge to cry, not even after all he’d had to drink. That is, until he turned away from Harry’s body to see the table with his personal effects. As in his life, Harry’s death boiled down to a well-battered but neatly folded suit, a pair of immaculately polished oxfords, only just scuffed, and a pair of glasses.

The left lens had a clear bullet hole, spiderweb cracks filling the rest of the glass. Eggsy brought both hands up to his face, sank to his knees, and started to sob.


End file.
